Between You and Me
by Scarlett Wallflower
Summary: There's nothing like poorly-defined, dysfunctional romantic relationships and unmet emotional needs to bring two people close together. Or, America uses his youthful wiles and Romano is an easily-persuaded old man. Romano/America-ish


I still haven't evolved into my final form as Hidekaz Himaruya, so no, I do not own anything related to Hetalia Axis Powers and I ain't making any money off this.

Rated T for light swearing and some sexual references.

Between You and Me

When America had called him earlier in the day and invited him to his place, Romano had to spend some time letting America convince him so he didn't seem too eager. Just because he was sitting alone in his house with no plans for the weekend didn't mean he needed to alert the press to this fact.

Romano had assumed that America would take him out for the night, maybe to a fancy restaurant or a night club. Hell, Romano would have been okay with going to some little crackerjack theater to see one of those weird, vaguely erotic art films. America liked to impress his guests and he was usually good for some (expensive) taking in of the nightlife.

Instead, America opened the door wearing jeans and Spiderman socks. The faded _American Idiot_ t-shirt was a nice touch, Romano noted as he was invited in and offered a Styrofoam box of Thai food.

After they'd finished eating and groaning about how there was nothing good on TV, Romano nearly suggested a trip to the crackerjack theater when America moved from his armchair and onto the sofa. It was fairly obvious that they weren't going anywhere so Romano decided he might as well get comfortable and plopped himself down next to his host.

They were both under a soft fleece blanket. America had noticed that, in spite of Romano's protests, he was chilled and tossed him a giant sky blue blanket. Romano had groused under his breath about how America only paid attention to things people didn't want him to and America, having suddenly been struck with hearing loss, wormed his way under Romano's blanket.

"What? What do you want?" Romano griped, trying to shove America away with his foot.

"I wanna cuddle. I'm lonely." It came out in a facetious kind of whine, but Romano knew his host was having a rare vulnerable moment.

"Then why the hell did you call _me_ over?" He stopped kicking and laid down, allowing America to squeeze in between the cushions and his own body.

America put his head down on Romano's chest, buttoning and unbuttoning in one particular spot on his friend's shirt. "Cause I knew you weren't busy."

Normally, Romano was fairly willing to let other people lie to save face, knowing it was something he was often guilty of. But for some reason, America brought out an uncharacteristically tender side of himself that made him want to keep prying until he got to the real issue.

"Nah, nah, that's not it. Why didn't you just call your buddy England?" He tugged gently on America's hair, as if that would compel him to tell the truth.

"It's not… It's different with you and England."

Romano smirked and took America's glasses off his face, finding himself in a rare playful mood. "Oh, I get it. England was a big Empire once upon a time so you don't wanna be embarrassed in front of him. But it's okay to do embarrassing stuff around me because I'm just a poor, ex-kingdom, huh?"

America pressed his face against the fabric of his friend's shirt in what could be interpreted as some kind of apologetic kiss. "That's not what I meant. Like, England… if I say that I'm lonely or something, he'll want to treat me like a baby again. I don't- he can't see me like that anymore, you know? I've gotta be all tough and manly now."

"Yeah, yeah, you gotta act like a macho freak so the love of your life doesn't think you're a kid, I get it."

America lifted his head up to meet Romano's gaze. "I know you do."

Well, damn. Romano hated that America knew about his own… complex relationship with his former colonizer. Why had he told him all that sappy, personal shit again?

"I knew I could trust you to see me as an equal."

Oh yeah, that was why. America had this uncanny talent of making you feel like you could trust him. Like, he was really your friend and didn't just see you as a nation that had shit he wanted to steal.

"What's the matter with you, you lunatic kid? You skip your meds this morning or something, huh?" Despite his words, Romano hugged America around the shoulders and kissed the top of his head.

America had started his whole button fixation again. But this time, he was working his way down, leaving the buttons undone. Romano was a bit shocked when he felt his bare skin touching the fabric of the blanket but not in an unpleasant way.

Romano tssked in false irritation. "Trying to get me naked already?"

"Do you want me to stop?" The boyish earnestness in America's voice made him pause, wondering if there was a way to get out of this situation without feeling like an ass.

No. "Yes."

"Is it me? Do you not like my outfit? I can go change, put on nicer underwear." He sounded so unsure of himself. Romano knew America gave his human age as nineteen and at times like these, he wondered if America was really just some teenage kid pretending to be a nation just to see if he could get away with it.

Agitated, Romano sat up, rolling and unrolling his sleeves a few times so he wouldn't have to look at the disappointment on America's face. "Nah, it's me, I'm, uh, really tired. Being under this blanket and all. I couldn't get it up if I tried."

America wrinkled his nose. "You're not gonna hurt me or emotionally scar me or whatever. I'm not a kid."

"Yeah, I know you're not. You're over five hundred years old, you big doofus. You ever seen any kids around that age?" Without waiting for a reply, Romano continued. "But I'm fucking old as shit. My fucking skin's gonna turn to dust tomorrow. If we had sex, I'd probably have a heart attack and die before you even finished. You might be sticking it in a corpse."

"Wow, you're such a romantic."

Romano snorted. There was something truly surprising and delightful about America getting rankled and becoming sarcastic.

"Damn straight," he retorted, lacing his fingers together behind his head.

America, who hadn't bothered to sit up, took the opportunity to reposition his head on Romano's chest. Romano noted that America had managed to ditch his shirt and pants at some point.

Feeling guilty, lonely, and slightly hard, Romano held still as America wiggled around so that he was half on top of Romano. The fact that America's half-hard dick was pressed against his thigh did nothing to lessen Romano's guilt.

America was still wiggling long after he should have gotten himself situated and Romano could take a guess as to what he was trying to do. He briefly considered just lying there and allowing America to do what he wanted. It seemed that time had left intact the image of a boy with messy hair and a hard-on padding into his bedroom, slipping under the covers and rubbing himself against Romano's groin, asking please, please, Romano, it's just for tonight. I won't tell anyone but it's starting to hurt. I really like you. You're so handsome. Your eyes are beautiful…

 _Your_ eyes are beautiful, Romano argued with his memory. There had been no lights on that night, not even the moon was visible. But there were lamps on in the present and Romano could see the color of America's eyes perfectly.

Blue. Striking, clear blue. He thought of young babies. Did nations have blue eyes when they were born? Had America's ever changed, even as he'd grown up? Who the hell was this guy?

When they'd slept together, zoot suits had been in fashion and bad decisions could be easily explained away by all the toxic liquor and bathtub booze everyone was drinking. Nowadays, there was global terrorism and financial crises. Everything was too real to pretend like you didn't know what you were doing.

If I had any decency, I'd stop right now, Romano thought as America yanked down his jeans and began to fiddle with the button of Romano's slacks.

But it felt _so fucking good_ to be not only needed but _wanted_ by someone. Veneziano needed his brother like a fish needs a bicycle, so capable and economically well-off was he. And if he did need someone, he'd likely just go running off to Mr. Muscles. He was so worthless he wasn't even part of the equation.

And then there was Spain. Someone who clearly knew what boundaries were but would arbitrarily define and cross them as he pleased. Someone who had been there for most of Romano's life and development but seemingly knew very little about who Romano actually was. Someone who didn't seem to know who he himself was.

"You sure you want this?"

"It's what I called you for," America mumbled. A second later, as if fully realizing what he'd just said, America looked dead into Romano's eyes. "Hey, um, I didn't mean it like that. You- ya know I care about you, right?"

"I know what you meant. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page."

If there was one thing that Romano knew about America, it was that he hadn't changed very much over time. With Spain, there seemed to be a clear before-and-after break in his personality. A conquistador and a humbled (or was it hobbled?) nation who was no better off than anyone else. America had never been made to apologize for who he was.

The time for musings was cut short when America smiled that charming, optimistic, boyish smile of his.

"You're a good friend to have, Romano."

And then maybe, just a little bit, Romano gave America a real smile in return.

"Yeah, I know."

"And Spain and England don't have to know about this right?"

Romano snorted in amusement. "With the amount of secrets they keep from us, I don't think it's a big deal if we keep a few from them."

With a surge of reckless abandon he hadn't felt in a long time (was youth contagious?), Romano lightly shoved America's chest to push him down on his back and straddled his hips. He put a hand behind that soft clean head of hair and leaned his lips down to America's ear.

"Besides, this doesn't have anything to do with them."

America and Romano shared the smile of people who have perfected the art of telling themselves blatant lies and began to enjoy their night together in earnest.

* * *

Hey, hope you enjoyed reading this.

Little history note for those of you interested: During the Prohibition Era, bootleggers often put a lot of nasty chemicals into alcohol so that it wouldn't be declared as "liquor" by the government and they could import it from places like Jamaica. Not surprisingly, the people who drank this stuff got really sick and often died, giving it the appropriate nickname "rot-gut."

Bathtub booze is pretty much what it sounds like. People making alcohol at home and mixing it up in their bathtubs instead of stills, like moonshiners would use. Because this type of alcohol was also disgusting, the fruity, sugary cocktails that many of us enjoy today came into use, basically to mask the harsh taste.

Annnnddd, today is my 21st birthday which is why I am boring you with this info about alcohol because now I can legally drown my existential sorrows... uh, I mean, enjoy alcohol in a responsible manner. So since it's my birthday, it would be really cool if you guys would drop me some reviews as a present *wink wink nudge nudge*

Thanks for reading and I'll see ya next time!


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